


His Alpha

by TerminallyCapricious



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A/B/O dynamic, Alpha!Aziraphale, Crowley wears a dress, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Omega!Crowley, Omegaverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 20:54:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19092955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerminallyCapricious/pseuds/TerminallyCapricious
Summary: An exploration of the history behind Crowley's relationship with Aziraphale. And the moment it all came to a head.





	His Alpha

**Author's Note:**

> Hey whats up I wrote this at 3am and it's finals time 
> 
> Please be kind about mistakes I'll probably catch them tomorrow haha
> 
> Hope you like it!

Sometimes Crawley wonders if The Almighty created angels (and by extension, demons) as a sort of test run for her latest pet project: humans. They had a few things in common, Crawley guesses, like being made In Her Image, she’s also decided to stick with the whole “free will” thing, even if the very existence of demons seemed to be proof that that doesn’t work out very well.

 

But as Crawley stands atop the gates of Eden, watching the humans leave the garden, fleeing across the barren landscape, he notices for the first time that they don’t seem to fit into the trichotomy of sexes that he’s familiar with. Crawley is an omega. It serves him well enough. The angel standing next to him, also watching the humans- Crawley hasn’t asked his name yet- is an alpha, which the demon can tell by the nature of his scent. The third sex is to be a beta, as most divine (and cursed) beings are. Crawley is just lucky to be special, he guesses. These humans, however, are just totally impossible to get a read on. They don’t smell like any of the three established sexes. Though given their differential reproductive organs and the way God had labelled them ‘woman’ and ‘man’, Crawley guesses that humans will have two sexes instead. But he could be wrong. There are only two humans so far, after all.

 

The angel sighs beside him and Crawley changes from his serpentine form purely so he has arms to cross as they watch the couple rush through the barren land outside the garden.

 

“Didn’t you use to have a sword?” Crawley asks him. It’s probably the only thing he’d noticed about this angel before. “It was like, on fire.”

 

“Um.” Is all the angel says.

 

“Huh.” Crawley notices a brightness cutting through the horizon where the ‘man’ defends the ‘woman’ from a lion with- yep, that sure is the angel’s flaming sword. “Well now was that really The Right Thing to do?”

 

The angel turns to him, speechless for a moment, eyes wild, biting his bottom lip like he’s trying to contain a deluge of words. As it turns out, he is.

 

“I don’t know!” He practically explodes when the metaphorical dam bursts, throwing his hands up into the air. “But it’s so cold and dangerous out there and, oh dear, that poor thing, she’s expecting already, but Heavens, I’m going to be in so much trouble when They find out, maybe it truly was The Wrong Thing to do. This is all your fault for getting them kicked out in the first place!”

 

Crawley inches a step backwards, taken aback by the angel’s words.

 

“Well, duh.” He offers, “I’ve been assigned to Earth for the time being so, you know, getting humans to do bad things is kind of my job now.”

 

The angel beside him crumbles over the thick stones of the garden wall. His hands wind into thick, white hair and Crawley can’t help but stare a moment. The angel’s hands are broad and strong-looking, and the inner-omega that lives within Crawley’s gut gives a small happy trill, instinctually urging him closer to The Alpha. Crawley just rolls his eyes at himself and gives the angel a sardonic comforting pat on the back. It’s not like he’s never met an alpha before, it’s just that the vast majority of beings he comes into contact with are betas. That, and the fact that Crawley is often assigned alongside other omegas, something about their heats being the perfect weapon for tempting lustfulness.

 

Crawley keeps his hand on the angel’s back as they watch the humans disappear over the horizon. He supposes that if they make it through the night, if they manage to survive long enough to populate this Someone-forsaken planet then Crawley will have his work cut out for him. Hopefully he can ditch these do-gooder angels in the gardens, though.

 

-

 

No such luck,  _ apparently. _

 

“Aziraphale!” Crawley slaps his hand heavily on the familiar angel’s shoulder. He thinks he deserves a prize for remembering such a long name. “Fancy running into you here.”

 

The angel stoops a little where the hand had hit him, jumping a little as he made eye contact with Crawley’s serpentine pupils.

 

“Crawley, lovely to see you again.” Aziraphale said, dryly. Crawley could tell that he didn’t particularly mean it. 

  
  


Crawley had allowed himself a few centuries of rest after that whole ‘Exodus from Eden’ thing, you know, just to give them human race enough time to bolster their numbers. Not much point in tempting people to do bad and harm each other if there are only 10 people to begin with. He’d fallen asleep in the delicate sunlight, under the Tree of Knowledge, poetically, he had thought at the time. And when he’d awoken, the garden was gone, long gone from the looks of it, and he’d been buried in years and years of sand from the barren wasteland where he lay. 

 

So, he’d gotten up, brushed himself down, and gone off to find people.

  
  


And so here he was today, in Mesopotamia, gathering with a large flock of locals who had come to watch some nutter collect animals, when he’d spied a familiar face, a familiar set of perfectly white curls.

 

Just touching the angel’s back had put a soft cramp in his gut, one that Crawley recognised all too well.

 

He rolled his eyes softly and glared heaven-ward. Of course. He’d managed to go  _ centuries _ without a heat. No need for a regular heat cycle if there aren’t any alphas nearby. He kicked at the dirt frustratedly and began making plans to sequester himself away for a week or so. Odds are it’ll be in full-swing not too long after nightfall.

 

“So!” He clapped his own hands together this time. “You just pop down to see the show or?”

 

“What?” Aziraphale is distracted for a moment, watching sadly as the doomed families mill around them. “Oh, no. I’m earth’s heavenly emissary, you know, leading people to Good and all. Your counterpart in many ways, I suppose.”

 

This time Crawley pulled a face and made a very rude gesture heaven-ward.

 

Stuck on earth, immortal, with an equally immortal alpha. Alpha  _ angel, _ at that, not even some other demon he could just fuck when his heat hit. Great. Perfect.

 

The rain began to spatter the dusty ground around them and Crawley thinks for a moment that if he allows himself to die- to discorporate- in this flood, then his body won’t have to go through his heat.

 

He lets out a long sigh of relief and returns his focus to the enormous boat in front of them. He supposes it won’t be too hard to avoid the angel. It’s a large planet, and they’d managed to avoid each other up until now. Simple.

 

-

 

Golgotha, Crowley- yes, he’d changed it- had decided, was probably worth it.

 

Worth running into the angel- Aziraphale, he barely remembered the name- just to see such a historical heavenly event take place. 

 

He’d been surprised when he’d shown up a few weeks before The Savior’s death, just, you know, to meet the guy before It happened, and he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the angel. He’d liked Jesus. Good guy. The man had looked into his eyes, seen his slitted pupils, and gazed like he had seen Crowley’s entire being. And then he’d gotten to the floor and washed Crowley’s feet. Crowley had been touched by this action, had come to the man in all of his remaining evenings, used his limited manipulation magics to take the young man from his usual dreams to places all over the world. He feels the man deserves it.

 

And so here he stands, arriving at the scene of the man’s death, having completely forgotten about his angelic counterpart until he spotted the white hair from behind.

 

“Aziraphale.” Is all he says, solemn as the occasion calls for. He crosses his hands and waits next to the angel while pained cries echo across the dust around them.

 

The angel nods to him and makes small talk, the both of them mourning, disinterestedly catching up on the last few millennia. Crowley can feel the aching pit in his stomach begin to form as he catches breath after breath of the alpha’s scent even in the harsh winds and packed crowd. But now’s not the time for dwelling on that. He’s had provisions set up in an isolated hut nearby for the last few weeks, aware that this was a very real possibility.

 

And so he doesn’t allow himself to think of it now. Now is a time for goodbyes.

 

-

 

Crowley slams his hand down on the bartop in Rome, frustrated. It’s only been 8 years since Jesus’ death and as such, Crowley figures, he’s got another couple thousand years before he’s set to run into the angel again. Perhaps longer, he had hoped, given how many people and how many population centres there were these days.

 

And yet here he is, in a bustling tavern, demanding something cheap and plentiful from the woman behind the bar. Trying to drink away his frustrations.

 

You see, he’d come to Rome not even an entire day ago, ready to try some new temptation methods on such a busy city, and he’d barely gotten any work done before he felt the familiar pit in his stomach. He hadn’t even seen the angel- or any heavenly or cursed figures- around the city yet, and he was deeply grouchy that he would have to leave town so quickly. Shack up in some hut or cave in the desert. Satisfy himself for a good few days. Or maybe he’d just discorporate himself. But even that would be an absolute fucking pain in the ass, plus he’d have to spend a good while being incorporeal in hell. He sighed audibly into his drink when it was placed in front of him.

 

“Crawley? I- I mean Crowley?” Ah. There it is. There  _ he  _ is. “How good to see you.” He sounded like he actually meant it this time. Perhaps Crowley had shown a touch too much empathy at Jesus’ execution and now this angel was endeared to him. Maybe the angel just appreciated a familiar face through the eons. Hm.

 

Crowley tried very hard not to grimace at the angel. Maybe Crowley appreciated the familiar face himself. Though he wasn’t too fond of the inconvenient reactions it caused. He could feel himself being snippy with the angel- with Aziraphale- and he rolled his eyes at his own grumpiness. He pushed down his frustration and met Aziraphale in a toast, allowing himself to be pulled into dull small talk.

 

“I’m here to try Patronius’ new restaurant.” Aziraphale says, as though he was sharing a piece of gossip. “I hear he does remarkable things to oysters.”

 

I need to get out of town, Crowley thinks to himself, I’ll probably be in the full throes by sunrise and I’ll want to get far from here and make myself comfortable. I cannot stick around, sticking around would be a terrible ide-

 

“I’ve never eaten an oyster.” Crowley says,  _ apparently _ completely ignoring his entire inner monologue. He watches over the rims of his newly-acquired spectacles as his words have the exact desired effect on the angel. The man’s features light up entirely, like a wave of excitement has rolled over him, and Crowley doesn’t bother to hide his own little smile.

 

He considers, for a brief moment, asking Aziraphale to help him through his heat. But it really is just a brief moment before he’s kicking himself for even thinking of it. He reckons there would be hell to pay if he got caught fraternising with the enemy.

 

-

 

Crowley is being slowly driven insane. And it’s not even his fault. Not even a little bit. He’s just trying to do an adequately sufficient job at tempting humans into sin. Is that so much to ask?

 

He’s only just now returning to commission, leading his men once more, after the brief battle against King Arthur’s men about a week ago.

 

He’d told his men that he’d been stabbed, wounded mortally (ha.) and retreated to an unknown location to ‘heal’. What had really happened, however, was that he had entered the battle and immediately stiffened down to his bones when he smelled a familiar scent in the air. He’d let out an unhappy growl that had reverberated through his heavy metal armor, not particularly omegan of him. That blasted alpha was  _ here. _ What a fucking  _ pain. _

 

He is sick of this. Absolutely fucking  _ sick _ of it! He’s currently penning a summons to ‘Sir Aziraphale of the table round’, what a fucking wanker. They’re going to meet up and talk about this rubbish they’re doing, working against each other, equalling out to a net gain of ZERO for either side. Crowley is going to convince him that they should just fucking stay home at this point. Hopefully that means he’ll have to deal with his shitty omegan instincts less often, if they just, you know, gave up, stopped running into each other.

 

He breaths out a sigh and closes the letter, sending it off with his squire, and he pulls the sweat-dampened cloth away from his skin. God these parts of the world are damp. Unpleasant at the best of times, but post-heat it makes him want to crawl out of his Someone-blasted skin. 

 

He just hopes Aziraphale thinks similarly to him and they can part ways and both have a long, long nap in their respective corners of the world.

 

-

 

Crowley tries, once more, to persuade Aziraphale a few hundred years later. He’d just gotten the call from head office that he was to go to Edinburgh to blah blah, temptation, blah blah. But he’s working on his own diabolical plans damn it. He’s  _ this _ close to seducing the first Baron Burghley, chief advisor to the queen. Satan knows what kind of havoc he could wreak just by whispering into the man’s ear. And so he had sent a missive to Aziraphale, calling a meeting, hoping to tempt the angel successfully into an arrangement of convenience. 

 

He smiles to himself with wicked glee as he gets dressed for their meeting at the Globe Theatre, pulling on a pair of heeled shoes that he knows shapes his calves and pushes out his rear temptingly. He’s timed this whole encounter with perfect precision. He will meet with the angel, convince him of the merits of his plan, and then Crowley, wanton with the edge of his heat, will crawl his way to the baron- who  _ conveniently _ seems to have a quiet week ahead of him.

 

Crowley bites his lip and glances at himself in the mirror, admiring the tempting cut of his figure in this particular outfit. And sure, maybe he doesn’t need to be dressed like this just to meet with the angel, but as he walks out his front door with an empowered sway to his hips, he knows that he wants the angel  _ looking. _ Perhaps it’s the excitement of a fulfilling heat ahead of him, or perhaps it’s the satisfaction of watching his plan fall into place, but Crowley is feeling  _ naughty _ tonight.

 

-

 

They’ve been, well,  _ in cahoots _ for a few centuries at this point, their tenuous agreement of sustainable laziness has served them well. Both of them had decided that London was a city that they rather liked living in, and as such ran into each other with particularly alarming frequency during the early 20th century. Crowley had taken a while to warm to it, but he’s begun to prefer the routine. Seeing Aziraphale as often as he does, his body has thankfully fallen into a regular cycle, his heat hitting once annually with such consistency that he is able to predict the precise moment it will come and find an excuse to leave the country for a fortnight or so.

 

That said, Crowley can pinpoint the exact second in which he and Aziraphale become  _ friends. _ He’s just saved the angel from making the disastrous mistake of allowing a handful of Nazis to walk away with a bundle of prophetic books. The two of them are standing in the wreckage of the church, Crowley no longer needing to hop about as the ground feels much less sacred with the building collapsed around them. And Aziraphale is working himself into a fit, having forgotten to protect his books from the crash.

 

And then Crowley stoops up and retrieves the bag from the grasp of the dead German, its soft leather and its contents both completely in tact- with a little help from Crowley’s own little miracle.

 

And Aziraphale looks at him, and his eyes are shining. His face is open and so adoring that Crowley almost feels embarrassed for him. He thinks for a very long moment that the angel just might kiss him. It looks like the angel is thinking the same thing.

 

So Crowley clears his throat and walks away back to the road, shouting back over his shoulder an offer of a lift. 

 

And from then on they were friends.

 

-

 

_ And then there was the whole matter with the antichrist. _

 

Even thinking about the whole situation gives Crowley a headache, which is impressive considering its basically all he thinks about.

 

The child is three years old now, nearing four, and Crowley is preparing himself to apply for the job of the child’s nanny.

 

He’d stood on the doorstep of the ambassador’s huge estate, flanked on either side by large men in suits, both likely armed, and he’d sighed, running his hands over his long skirts once more to flatten them. He’d adopted a strict posture and allowed one of the guards to ring the doorbell for him.

 

He hadn’t needed to change his physical form to blend in as a woman, his features were generally androgynous, and the curve of his chest, waist, and hips were smooth and accentuated, as is common among omegas.

 

And so here he stands, bent slightly over the rickety single bed in his room in the staff wing of this- obscenely large- estate, unpacking his bags into the single, cheap dresser. He’d used some… unorthodox methods to negotiate his way into one of the more secluded rooms in the wing, trying and failing to hide a wry smile when the maid leading him had said he’d be next door to Brother Francis, the gardener. He had a good idea who Brother Francis would turn out to be.

 

The knock on his door, a gesture of politeness given that it was open, does not surprise Crowley, and he turns on his heel to greet Aziraphale with a tilt of his head and a prim smile, staying in character.

 

“Why hello there,” The angel removes his hat- an unfashionable tweet piece- in greeting, sticking out his hand to shake Crowley’s. “I’m Brother Francis, Mrs…?”

 

“Ms.” Crowley grabs the angel’s hand firmly. “Ms Ashtoreth, young Warlock’s new nanny.”

 

“Ms Ashtoreth.” Aziraphale repeats, sounding almost breathless, and blushing a little as they keep their hands clasped together.

 

Crowley makes sure the angel can see perfectly as his smile spreads, almost serpentine, into a wide grin, one perfectly manicured eyebrow peeking over his sunglasses. He’s unsure whether Aziraphale’s reaction is to Crowley’s name choice- an allusion to a goddess of fertility, sexuality, and war- or whether Crowley just looks that good in a skirt. Either way, he likes to make the angel blush.

 

“Yes, well.” Aziraphale clears his throat and releases Crowley’s hand, patting down his gardening apron as if to smooth down wrinkles which aren’t there. Crowley’s grin grows wider and he’s sure it looks particularly demonic from the way it makes Aziraphale fidget. “I am staying right next door, should you need anything. Good day, madam.”

 

Crowley leans against his doorframe with his hip jutting out at a suggestive angle, getting up in Aziraphale’s space and watching as he flusters satisfyingly before the angel retreats to his room, shutting his door just a little too loudly.

 

Crowley snickers to himself and returns to unpacking. Maybe living next door to Aziraphale for a while will be fun.

 

-

 

OK, it is fun.

 

Crowley had called it on the day he’d moved in, and he wasn’t ever more sure of it than he is now.

 

The two of them sat sharing a couch in the common area of the staff quarters, Aziraphale sitting upright with his usual prim posture, despite the fact that the glass of wine in his hand is his fourth. Beside him, Crowley has kicked off his ankle boots with their sensible heel and they sit on the floor, his stockinged feet are tucked up under him, tangled in the mass of his modest skirts. But his prim suit jacket sits draped over the back of the couch where Crowley had thrown it at some point during his first glass, when the wine had heated his body up too much to need it. His usually styled hair is down at the moment, hanging loosely around his shoulders- he’s not too proud to admit that he’s perhaps a little vain about his soft ginger locks. The two beings take up the entire couch, sitting just close enough for Crowley’s knee to rest against Aziraphale’s thigh. Crowley’s long, toned arm is placed along the backrest, carefully running behind Aziraphale without touching him.

 

They’re not alone in the common area, in fact the room is full and bustling with their equally tipsy coworkers. 

 

The ambassador, his family, and most of their security, had left yesterday for a trip to America that will last about two weeks. Crowley had attempted to worm his way into attending, but something about a fragile diplomatic issue blah blah, whatever. He could use some time off. And judging by the amount of empty wine bottles strewn around the room, it seems the rest of the staff could too.

 

He glances over to where Aziraphale is listening intently to a story being told by a cheery woman. A cook, Crowley thinks. He’s more interested in watching the golden lamp light circle behind the angel’s pure white hair, illuminating his strong nose, his distinctive but somehow soft features. It makes Crowley wonder what the angel looks like with a halo. 

 

He returns his gaze to his- mostly empty- wine glass, idly swirling the remnants of it, allowing the fond smile to sit on his face a moment longer.

 

He’s got a good buzz going. He feels warm from his nose to his feet, he’s calm, he’s happy, he’s got the most pleasant warmth settling in the pit of his stomach-

 

Hang on. 

 

Crowley rockets up off the couch, startling a few of the staff around him. He grabs his shoes and his jacket and makes a beeline for his room.

 

He’s cursing up an absolute storm as he haphazardly throws a few necessities into one of his bags, trying to calm down enough to take a moment to sober up. He sits on the bed and places his head in his hands, running his long fingers through the gentle wave of his hair. The motion settles him a little, and he allows himself to shake off the effects of the wine.

 

He’s not at all surprised to hear a gentle rapping on his door, and he groans a little before looking up at the angel standing in his doorway.

 

“Angel.” Crowley says, flatly. “I need to head home for a few days, take care of some things.”

 

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale sounds as though he’s sobered himself up already, and he sits beside the demon, letting the bed springs creak under his weight. He makes a motion to put his hand on Crowley’s shoulder but clearly thinks better of it. “It’s snuck up on you this time, has it?”

 

Crowley can only stare at him for a very long, silent moment, shock and horror obvious on his features. “How long have you known.”

 

“Well, look, I don’t want to embarrass you, dear boy.” The angel says, and even that has Crowley groaning in humiliation. “But an alpha can smell an approaching heat on an omega from ages away, often times weeks before it starts.”

 

Crowley returns his head to his hands, wants to fall to the floor and let it swallow him up, send him back to hell where he’ll never have to face this angel- or any other angel- ever again.

 

This time, Aziraphale actually does pat Crowley on the shoulder, and the simple touch sends a shockwave ricocheting up and down his spine, his entire body shivering under the contact. He groans, embarrassed, muffled into his hands.

 

“Well, you know, my dear,” Aziraphale is speaking slowly, as though he is worried that Crowley may run at any moment, like a startled horse. “If it would help you, I would be amenable to offering my, erm…. Services?”

 

Crowley pulls his head from his hands in a movement so quick that Aziraphale nearly misses it. The demon turns his whole body to face the angel, removing his sunglasses and allowing his slitted eyes to run analytically over the angel’s entire face.

 

Without a word, Crowley stands from his bed, walks to his door and shuts it firmly. He carefully schools his expression when he turns back, keeping his face blank as he watches the angel squirm uncertainly on his simple bedsheets. 

 

Crowley maintains intense eye contact with Aziraphale as he reaches behind himself and slowly pulls on the long zipper on the back of his skirt. The loud sound cuts through the stifling silence of the room and the angel’s eyes grow wide as he catches on. Crowley couldn’t keep the grin from his face even if he tried.

 

Aziraphale is looking satisfyingly flustered by the time the zipper reaches its end, though it’s really only been a few seconds, and Crowley allows the big bundle of fabric to drop to his feet without any particular showmanship. The action, however, seems to have stunned his counterpart- his  _ alpha. _ Crowley languidly steps out from the pile of fabric lying on the floor around his feet, watching as the dim light shines off of his pantyhose- they stop mid-thigh where they attach to a simple garter belt. He knows that his long, white dress shirt is still covering most of his modesty, and he enjoys the way that Aziraphale’s eyes are magnetised to his hands when he brings them to his collar, like the angel could not bear to miss him unbuttoning his shirt. 

 

Instead, he grabs handfuls of the fabric and pulls, ripping off every button from the collar down.

 

Aziraphale is gaping at him now, and Crowley allows himself to subtly pose for a moment, letting it feed his ego. He knows he must look a treat, his long auburn hair falling to his shoulders, his shirt hanging open, exposing his chest- his soft chest, not plush, but not lean- framing his hips where a sensible pair of black panties cling to his skin, and to his growing hardness, and down to his legs, which are all but bare save for the nearly-sheer fabric of his hose.

 

Aziraphale seems unable to close his mouth as Crowley stalks seductively towards the bed, depositing himself into the stunned angel’s lap. He can feel himself growing slick under the appreciative gaze.

 

“You know,” Crowley reaches out to twirl a hand around one of the alpha’s loose curls. “I think I might just take you up on that offer.”

 

Aziraphale nods, dumbly, though he seems to have remembered how to close his mouth. Crowley grins in response, a little wry- as is his nature- but also very genuine.

 

Crowley leans in, running his nose up and down the length of Aziraphale’s neck, scenting him to begin with. The smell of the alpha is so  _ strong _ here, and Crowley lets out a pleased hum as he drinks it straight from the source. He smells like… like a warm fire, and Crowley decides that he rather likes it.

 

He can feel the alpha shift below him, vaguely aware that he’s shrugging off his jacket, and Crowley wonders for a moment why he hadn’t even  _ thought _ to feel exposed despite being so much less dressed. Damned trustworthy angels, he decides, his deft fingers rising between them to pick at the knot on the alpha’s bowtie. Once it’s undone, Crowley wraps either end of the fabric around each hand and uses it to pull Aziraphale in close for a kiss.

 

Crowley had meant for the kiss to be bruising, desperate and needy, but when they were moments away from meeting, the omega paused for a moment, and allowed the alpha to close the gap, initiating a soft, warm, affectionate kiss. Perhaps that was best for their first kiss.  _ Their first kiss, _ Crowley thought, wildly, internally laughing at the idea.

 

It turns  _ filthy _ very quickly, however. Crowley introduces his tongue, and at this point the familiar warmth in his stomach has become a burning  _ need. _ The clash of their tongues, the awkward bites when teeth get in the way, it all fuels Crowley’s desperation and he recognises, distantly, somewhere, that he’s writhing helplessly in his position above the alpha’s lap.

 

Crowley takes a moment to listen to the screaming desires which yell at him from the back of his mind, and he pulls back from their kiss with a deliberate nibble at the alpha’s lower lip. Aziraphale looks up at him, just as stunned as he’s been this entire encounter. 

 

And so Crowley winks at him, and slowly slides down the alpha’s body, rubbing his way over clothes as he sinks to his knees between Aziraphale’s legs. Aziraphale’s hands clutch at the bedspread for a long moment, and he’s inhumanly still as he watches Crowley sit before him. 

 

“Please?” Crowley looks up at him through his lashes, “Alpha?”

 

That seems to break through Aziraphale’s reverie because the alpha’s hands are suddenly moving at lightning speed to wrestle with his plain-looking belt. Crowley licks at his lips, enjoying the way that Aziraphale gets distracted by the display as he awkwardly wrestles his fly down. Crowley watches interestedly as the fabric parts, leaving the omega at eye level with an- honestly rather sizeable- bulge tenting at the thin fabric of Aziraphale’s boxer briefs.

 

He succumbs to omegan instincts for a moment, likely not for the final time during this heat, and he nuzzles his nose along the bulge. He wraps his dry lips around it through the fabric and moves up and down the length, rubbing it against his cheeks, his chin, his nose. He recognises distantly that he’s scent marking. Claiming himself as Aziraphale’s, so that everyone would know. The thought sends a shiver through him, and the alpha groans above him when it forces him to breath out heavily against the bulge. He licks at it, over and over again, small kitten licks with the tip of his tongue, looking up at the alpha, maybe for validation, maybe to tease him, Crowley isn’t quite sure.

 

A broad pair of hands come down and hold Crowley’s cheeks, and they feel cool against his flushed skin. Crowley stops his ministrations and holds eye contact for a long moment.

 

“Come, omega.” Aziraphale says, certain, authoritative. And Crowley nearly does, literally, in the confines of his snug undergarments. But instead he whines for a short moment and climbs back up onto the bed beside the alpha-  _ his alpha. _

 

The angel wraps his warm arms around Crowley’s soft body and gently deposits him back onto the sheets. Aziraphale then stands, leaving the omega cold and lonely for a moment, but enamoured as he watches his alpha undress. The shirt comes off with little fanfare, but Crowley notes a distinct  _ need _ to nuzzle his nose into the trail of hair leading down the alpha’s stomach. Aziraphale pauses for a moment, glancing up at Crowley worriedly before he undoes his pants.

 

When he does, Crowley’s jaw drops.

 

_ “Fuck.” _ The omega says out loud. He’s unsure if there’s anything else to say on the matter.

 

His mouth begins to salivate the longer he stares, though he knows it would be… an effort to fit it into his mouth.

 

“You have a beautiful cock, angel.” Crowley attempts to sound flippant, but his voice breaks and he only sounds hungry. He clears his throat before speaking once more. “Please,  _ please _ fuck me with it.”

 

Crowley slowly, sensually, runs his hands down his sides and pushes down his panties, kicking them off when they reach his feet, he leaves his hose on. He parts his legs invitingly and motions for Aziraphale to rejoin him on the bed. He’s not sure he’s ever seen the alpha move so quickly.

 

Aziraphale moves as though he were going to crawl slowly up the omega’s body, but he stops, eye level with Crowley’s pelvis and licks his lips hungrily. Crowley sucks in a desperate gasp at the sight and pushes his hips up, silently begging for, well, anything, please.

 

Strong hands wind their way under Crowley’s thighs and lift them onto Aziraphale’s broad shoulders. Crowley lets out an involuntary moan as he’s manhandled, fuck he can appreciate a strong, domineering alpha, though he’s not sure he’s ever used those words to refer to Aziraphale before. The angel’s tongue completely skips over Crowley’s straining cock, and he’s a moment away from complaining when he feels it, a firm, broad lick at his hole.

 

And then he’s  _ shaking. _

 

His legs shudder on either of Aziraphale’s shoulders, his back bows as he tries to push his hips up further, into that tongue, that hot, hot pressure. It strokes along the outside of his hole repeatedly, firm, rough, and just the right amount of not quite enough that will surely drive Crowley to madness if he has to endure it even a moment longer.

 

His hands grab wildly at Aziraphale’s hair, twisting cruelly into the soft curls, but he doesn’t care if he’s being too rough, he needs this, needs to pull the alpha closer, needs more, needs  _ more. _

 

And then there’s a finger, blunt and warm, pressing firmly at his- now soaking- opening. It draws a few brief circles around it which prompts Crowley to let out an actual  _ sob _ of desire, and then it’s pushing in.

 

Aziraphale had meant to finger Crowley slowly, kindly, thoroughly, but the man was absolutely drenched and his first finger slides in much quicker and easier than he had meant. Crowley is grabbing at his hair almost painfully now, and he extricates his mouth from the area and slid his way up the omega’s body, taking pride in the way his broader form covers his partner almost completely. Crowley seems to enjoy this too, and his hands detatch from the alpha’s hair, instead snaking his arms around Aziraphale’s neck, pulling him close for a kiss. When the alpha slides in his second finger, the kiss devolved into Crowley panting needily against his lips.

 

“Another, alpha, please.” His voice is wrecked, cracking under his intense desire with each stroke of the angel’s fingers inside him. “Please I can take it, want to take all of you, need it  _ now.” _

 

Aziraphale’s third finger joins the other two and quirks upwards as he bites at Crowley’s neck. He hums in satisfaction at the way Crowley’s entire body shakes like a leaf under him.

 

“Oh God,” Crowley flinches at the spike of pain that runs through him when he accidentally calls the Lord’s name. “F-Fuck I- I mean, alpha,  _ angel, _ I’m-”

 

Crowley’s entire body seizes up with the first wave of intense pleasure that rolls over him. And then the next one comes and his head snaps back, his eyes squeezing shut as if they had a mind of their own. The waves just keep rolling over him, destroying him, weakening him with each rush of heat and tension and  _ pleasure _ that wracks his body.

 

When he comes down from his orgasm, he is unable to stop shaking, and Aziraphale senses this immediately, withdrawing his fingers and wrapping his broad arms tightly around  _ his _ omega.

 

Crowley shivers for a long moment, taking in calming breaths of  _ his _ alpha’s scent, letting himself be vulnerable and exhausted like this for a moment.

 

He’s almost fallen asleep when he feels the arms around him begin to extract, and he makes a noise so needy that he manages to feel embarrassed even through the haze.

 

“Shh, sweetheart.” Aziraphale’s hand pats through his hair and Crowley thinks he might start purring. Do demons purr? Is that a thing he does? “I’m going to get you some water and some cloths to clean you, I’ll be right back.”

 

“Mm, but you didn’t get to finish.” Crowley says, muffled by his pillow, though he was fairly certain he was too tired, too sated to do anything about his alpha’s erection right now.

 

“It’s alright, my dear” Aziraphale murmurs the pet name and Crowley hums contentedly. “I’m certain I’ll get mine soon enough, you’ll likely be insatiable tomorrow.”

 

Crowley knows that he’s right, and the omega barely manages to stay awake long enough to watch Aziraphale get dressed and quickly duck out the door. The sheets are just so warm and soft, like a nest which smells strongly of his alpha.

 

_ His alpha. _ That’s a nice thought.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this was absolutely just for my own amusement


End file.
